


let my love in ( lay it all on me )

by dormant_bender



Category: Football RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Eventual Romance, Fluff, Implied Relationships, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, One Shot Collection, Roommates, Sharing Clothes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-26
Updated: 2016-04-26
Packaged: 2018-06-04 17:34:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,109
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6667981
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dormant_bender/pseuds/dormant_bender
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rafinha finds himself with a new roommate that he soon realizes he has romantic feelings for.</p>
            </blockquote>





	let my love in ( lay it all on me )

**Author's Note:**

> the only edits i did was to just make it all one giant chapter :p xx

    Something isn't right. That was the first thing the Brazilian had noticed as he bounds up the stairs to the front door of his dormitory. It was ajar and wide open exposing the interior of the flat for whatever reason and his first reaction is to dial the cops—oh, wait, no.

    He couldn't do that. He mentally curses to himself, why had he allowed Neymar to coerce him into holding weed for him? That bastard. Instead he nibbles anxiously at his already bitten nails before decidedly manning up to stroll cautiously inside. Nothing was really amiss, that's what he first notes, though he eventually spots the door to an empty room open.

    Brows furrow at that—his last roommate, Sergi, had moved out a few month's prior which left him an extra room for one of his friends that reveled in drunken stupors, specifically on Friday nights—but he decides not to freak out too much as he hesitantly walks the short distance to investigate.

    Fingers are clenched on the straps of his backpack as he approaches the room to suspiciously glance inside, only to find a lean form leaning over the bed with a variety of suitcases lined up in an organized fashion around him. Pale hands are removing folded clothes from one suitcase and depositing them on the bed, obviously unaware of his presence.

    "Hey? What the hell are you doing in my flat?" Rafinha calls out after a moment of hovering by the door frame, head canting as he speaks. There is no response from the mysterious being, however, so he tries again: "You're not supposed to be in here—actually, wait. How did you even get in here? I got the locks changed." 

    But once more, there is silence. He heaves a groan and releases the straps on his backpack in favor of clenching them by his sides, the headstrong male sauntering in the direction of the blond who is still steadily removing clothing and placing them in neat piles. He taps him on the shoulder, enough to garner his attention, and the blond immediately releases a startled yelp and shifts on his feet to face the brunet.

    And, wow. Okay, so. There weren't many around with eyes that are crystalline blue nor did he know anyone with such a sculpted jaw-bone either. Nonetheless he gathered rather quickly that the guy—whomever he was and whatever he was doing—was definitely not from here, not that he was either, but still.

    All the guy does is stare at him with those wide, gorgeous eyes and never does he utter a world to express his obvious bewilderment. Fingers are quick to pluck out the earphones he wears though, and he offers a small smile as well as a hand.

    Rafinha eyes it for a moment before glancing into those eyes once more, "So why are you here? And who gave you a key? I highly doubt someone like you," Dressed in a button-up and a nice pair of jeans that snugly fit his lower body with a decent pair of sneakers: "Would know how to pick a lock." Vague amusement lurks within crystal clear hues at that but he still doesn't speak, instead he leans back on the open suitcase, arms crossing over his broad chest. "Do you speak Spanish? Or anything at all?"

    "Ich spreche, ja. Ich spreche eine menge dinge."

    Another groan is reeled from the brunet as he buries his face in his hands and mentally curses whatever higher being dropped this man inside of his flat. "At least you're not mute," murmurs the Brazilian as he withdraws his hands from his face in favor of nipping at his bottom lip, tugging at the chapped skin there thoughtfully. "I don't speak that—whatever that is." Hands motion furiously this way and that, eyeing the man who seems to be attempting to contain a grin.

    "Es ist Deutsch."

    "Ich spreche kein Deutsch." Rafinha murmurs to himself. Which, okay, yeah. Maybe he knew a little bit but only because his brother did a little soul-searching in Germany for a year or two for college while he had traveled to Barcelona for better opportunities.

    More wide eyes greet him as well as brows that lift to just below his hairline. "You just did?"

    Rafinha points an accusative finger at the blond, "So you do speak Spanish?"

    "If I came to Barcelona to study, I figured it would be nice to be somewhat fluent." Nameless shrugs his shoulders casually before he straightens up to offer a hand towards the Brazilian. "Nice to meet you."

    Ivory teeth gnaw at the skin of his lower lip once more but he accepts the hand extended towards him, shaking it firmly twice. "Yeah, yeah. That still doesn't explain who you are and why you're in my flat.."

    "Sorry about that?" Unknown chuckles nervously as he scratches at the back of his neck, thin lips twitching upwards into a small smile. "I'm Marc-André, but my friends back in Deutschland call me all kinds of things, so I don't mind whatever name you decide to call me by."

    Eyes the color of warm, dark chocolate stare at the man in mild intrigue, a small smile of his own forming upon his lips. "I'll feel it out and probably have a name for you in a week or two. I'm Rafael or just Rafa, a lot of things actually. But mostly Rafa." He introduces without a moment of hesitancy as he glances towards the clothes and suitcases about the room, pointing to them each individually. "So what exactly are you doing?"

    Marc's countenance contorts to one that looks thoroughly perplexed by the question. He fishes through his deep pocket on his jeans for a small note as well as a tiny manila package that is simply labeled 'dorm key,' and hands it off towards the Brazilian. Rafinha graciously accepts it then proceeds to read whatever was neatly scrawled onto the thin sheet of paper, glancing up at Marc every millisecond as he does so. 

    The little package that was still far too large for just a key has his brows furrowing, however, though he hands everything back after a brief minute. If the German assumed the two would bring some type of clarification, then he was gravely mistaken. Neither the package or the letter meant anything significant and he can tell by the look on the latter's countenance that maybe it was him that was the one that lacked knowledge.

    "What?"

    Marc shrugs a shoulder, fingers tapping rhythmically against his suitcase, a small frown framing his lips. "Did you not read the notices that the Dean had sent out? He told me that you got them all and already knew about me coming to room with you."

    An amused snort echoes from the brunet at that; he had certainly not received any type of information about the topic and hadn't been expecting anyone, much less a roommate from Germany. "Either the Dean is a lot older than I originally thought or he has no idea what he's talking about."

    "I, um—I found these on the door before I moved most of my stuff in. It was addressed to you, I assumed." The blond rummages through the clothes littering the bed and finally retrieves an envelope that still had tape attached to it, handing it towards the brunet, who is quirking a brow.

    Hesitantly he tears the stark white envelope open to read its contents thoroughly then groans outwardly. "Apparently they sent, like, five notices." He winces mentally then smiles reassuringly at the blond, "I'm pretty bad at checking my mail, I guess. Sorry about being a dick about this all, I'm just not used to random people in my flat." Not exactly true but not a lie either.

    But Marc doesn't seem bothered by his lack of knowledge and instead offers him another smile. "It's cool, I don't mind. You should probably check your mail more often though, you could be missing something important."

    "I'll keep that in mind? Uh, so. Anything else you need to bring in or can I actually close the front door now?"

    "Scheisse." The German flushes a faint pink as he glances at Rafinha, "I thought I closed it.."

    Rafinha rolls his eyes at that but saunters off towards the door frame nonetheless, casting a fleeting glance over his shoulder as he returns to the front door: "At least me not caring about the mail wouldn't lead to possible murder."

    If the German responded to the words at all, it wasn't heard by the Brazilian. Instead he drifts out towards the front of the flat to close the door, latching it tightly shut, then eventually slides off towards the small kitchenette that's connected to the small living space area. There he retrieves two beers along with some leftover Chinese food from the fridge, retreating towards one of the ratty couches in the living room.

    "You should probably take a break from all that and have a beer with me. I know how Germans are when there's beer around," shouts the brunet from the living room, reaching blindly for the remote to turn on the television. 

    Nearly seconds later, after a few sounds of rustling and the sound of feet shuffling, emerges the blond from the bedroom. He's relatively quiet as he takes a seat next to his new roommate, plucking up the beer can, popping the tab, then taking a long sip of the stale-tasting liquid. All Rafinha can do is stare at the blond as he downs it all after less than a minute, placing it back onto the small coffee table, then glancing to the side to meet the Brazilian's gaze.

    "Why are you looking at me like that?"

    "No reason. Remind me the next time I try to get your attention to just bring out a few beers though?"

    Marc can only chuckle at that as he sinks back into the couch cushion in an attempt at getting comfortable, seeing the Brazilian still smiling at him through his peripheral vision.

-

    Nearly a month had passed since the blond had initially moved in, the the two had managing to fall into a semblance of routine with each other. Of course that also meant picking up on the latter's individual quirks, some of which the blond wasn't fond of. Not that he typically complained about it aloud—never would he either, especially when he was only just the roommate—but that didn't mean it didn't bug him.

    There he is casually plucking up a variety of t-shirts from the couch and floor leading towards Rafinha's bedroom, the male sprawled leisurely across his bed, fingers absently pressing at the buttons on his controller. The sounds of Fifa are nearly boisterous in his room, which would surely garner some noise complaints eventually, mused the German.

    Within the confines of the Brazilian's bedroom, it was practically a war-zone. Clothes were strewn about on nearly every available surface, save for his bed, that only contained sheets, two pillows, and a decent sized comforter. Marc stares at him from the doorway with a small frown on his lips; it wasn't his fault he was taught as a child to pick-up after himself and to put everything back in its rightful place when he was finished with them.

    "Rafa, what is with you and your clothes?"

    Rafinha doesn't even so much as glance in his direction as he adjusts the headset on his head, sliding it down so it rests around his neck. "What about them?"

    "They're sort of everywhere."

    Cue the amused humming the spews from the bed at that, "It's convenient that way. So if I'm ever late for class, like everyday, I can just pick something up and go without planning outfits out like you do."

    Pale cheeks flush considerably, fingers maneuvering to scratch bashfully at the back of his head. "My mom would probably kill me if I ever left the house in just a pair of sweats and a t-shirt."

    Russet hands abruptly throw the controller across the room which is followed by an outstretched groan and a litany of curses from the Brazilian. "He fucking cheated. Again." He murmured after a moment, finally glancing at Marc, who barely even flinches at the action. "But clothes, right. I'll pick them up eventually, when they need to be washed or something."

    "You literally work out in these," The arm-full of clothes within his grasp are testament to it, the musky smell as well. "And then wear them to class and even out to the club sometimes."

    "Some people like it dirty, you're not one of those people?"

    It's then the pretty pink of his cheeks flushes a deep crimson, the male offering an awkward cough. "Not this type of dirty?"

    There's a smug smirk upon plump lips as he stares at Marc from his spot on the bed, scooting over slightly, then patting the warmed area. "It's sort of gross that you're holding them right now. But just forget about it, come play some Fifa with me before I have to do my homework."

    Pale arms are reluctant to drop the clothes he had managed to gather but he can't resist the call of the game, so he swiftly obliges and steps over the mountain of clothing in favor of plopping onto the bed beside the Brazilian. He, too, gets comfortable and lays on his stomach—which proved the two had improved friendship-wise, as he hadn't been comfortable enough to even contemplate sitting like that before.

    Rafinha rolls out of bed to retrieve his control as well as another spare that is tucked within one of his nearly-vacant drawers to toss toward the blond, who catches it easily. Marc is nice enough to allow the brunet free-reign when it came to setting everything up, even allowing him to choose the teams the two would be playing as.

        Real Madrid vs Bayern München.

    Blue hues slide to gaze upon the Brazilian who is snickering quietly to himself, "Really?"

    "What's wrong with a friendly little competition? I can't stand Real but I figured they would still kick the shit out of Bayern."

    Marc snorts his amusement but doesn't speak any further on the topic as the game starts up, the pixelated players looking somewhat decent as they flicker across the screen. At first all is silent as the two maneuver the players and the game-play, that is until one of the players on Bayern manages to score, which reels an agitated shriek from Rafinha.

    "What the actual hell was that, Marquinho? How did you even manage to—You said you couldn't even play, did you lie to me?"

    Once more the German manages to maneuver the players through the strong of Rafinha's chosen team and towards the goal where he fails to set in. "I didn't lie, no. I still don't really know what I'm doing but that doesn't seem to matter right now." 

    "Bet I'll still win though."

    "Wanna bet?"

    Abruptly the game is paused and the Brazilian is shifting so his body is facing the German, propping his head up on his elbow, to glance him up and down. "Depends. What are we betting on?"

    Marc offers a thoughtful hum, "Whatever you want?"

    "If I win, you can't complain about my laundry ever again. And if I happen to completely slaughter you, you have to do my laundry."

    "And if I win?"

    "I'll do my laundry so you won't keep complaining about it like my mom does."

    "Deal."

    Once more the two are fully immersed in the game, barely uttering a word as they fiddle with the controls. For the next few minutes neither of two score which brings doubt to the Brazilian, as he would have to unfortunately abide by the rules stated by their makeshift bet. Not that he would mind, he probably needed someone to tell him when to do things, especially when he was so easily distracted by other things that seemed to matter a lot more than going down to the laundromat at the front of the dormitory entrance.

    Minutes continue to pass by until finally the Brazilian manages to score on the German, who only utters a soft sigh as it replays on the screen. "That was actually pretty good. You know, I once wanted to be a keeper on a football team back in my hometown."

    "Why a keeper, why not a striker?"

    "I've been told I was a keeper."

    Rafinha crinkles his nose in disdain at the terrible line but manages to snicker it off with a smile regardless. "You're so lame, man." With that he shoves him playfully until the German feigns as if he's going to tumble off the bed, a russet arm rapidly darting out to right him, capturing him by the wrist and tugging him safely onto the bed. "You any good though? In real life, that is."

    Another smile is visible upon thin lips as he returns his gaze back to the game still in full-effect. "I guess so yeah, I actually made the team."

    "Why don't you ever play with me and the guys then? You're always there." He sticks his tongue out of the corner of his mouth as he maneuvers the players that run upon the screen, but Marc has stolen the ball once more, making a bee-line towards Rafinha's goal.

    "It's fun watching you play, I guess? You always look so happy and focused, sort of like now."

    For some peculiar reason unbeknownst to the brunet, his russet cheeks heat up with warmth. "Knowing you watch us play just so you can stare at me is sort of creepy, Ter."

    But the German is too focused on the game to make a proper response, his player easing towards the goal and right before the player is about to kick it in, the blond abruptly drops the controller to flinch. He immediately glances to his left at a smugly grinning Rafinha who steals the ball, taking it effectively to the German's respective goal and scoring. All the while the blond is stroking the sensitive skin upon his shoulder where faint teeth-marks are visible, the skin reddening considerably.

    Whoops echo throughout the room, however, before he can exclaim his complete and utter disbelief at the action. Almost instantaneously he's eyeing the sight of a pair of feet that are jumping up and down upon the mattress, happily shrieking at his victory, pointing fingers at Marc who only blinks at the sight.

    "Did you just—Did you bite me? Just to win?"

    "It's not like I did it hard but I won regardless so it doesn't even matter," coos the brunet in a sing-song voice as he does an impromptu victory dance. 

    Too stunned by the action, the blond only waves a hand dismissively, rolling off the bed and disappearing into the bathroom a few feet away. He still hears snickers and shouts of triumph from Rafinha as the room is connected to his bedroom. Fingers fumble to flicker the lights on so he can better view the bite mark, the teeth marks are already beginning to fade despite the increased redness that spreads there.

    In a peculiar way he doesn't mind the action in the slightest, he was only put-off by the fact that it had occurred whilst playing an intense game of Fifa. He stares at Rafinha through the mirror when the shorter eventually stumbles in to gaze upon the damage he had dealt, his russet fingers gingerly brushing over the area, stroking it softly with his fingers.

    The Brazilian wears an apologetic smile as he continues the stroking movements of his fingers, gazing up into crystal clear hues. "You're not into biting obviously," he teases lightheartedly as he reluctantly removes his fingers in favor of tugging the male into a one-armed hug. "Look: I'm sorry, okay? I just hate losing and really wanted to win."

    A pink tongue makes an appearance to swipe along a thin lower lip while he thinks of a coherent response. There's barely anything to say with the way the latter seems to be a living furnace, serving to warm up the entirety of his body in just one simple hug. Instead he ends up flushing deeply once more and averting their locked gaze in favor of staring bashfully at the floor.

    "It's not a big deal, I just wasn't expecting it."

    "If you say so,"

-

    Nearly three weeks had passed since that incident. Nothing had been awkward between the two or even close to uncomfortable once apologies had been in order; they had even played another game of Fifa after, at least until the blond excused himself in favor of returning to his own respective room with the words of 'studying,' on his lips.

    Of course since he had lost, the brunet had free-reign to do whatever he wanted with his clothes, which still remained scattered here and there throughout the house. Which is why he's currently strolling around the campus with a borrowed shirt from the German, it was a sleeveless hoodie in the color of navy blue that hung loosely on his figure but was a decent fit nonetheless.

    His fingers are clutched at the straps of his book bag as he meanders across the vibrant green grass towards where the football field lay, the rest of his friends already changed into shorts and t-shirts when he finally arrives. As expected, he spots Marc sitting on one of the bleachers, though oddly enough he's shirtless and adorns a pair of snug-fitting white shorts.

    Rafinha quirks a brow at that and is halted on his trek to question the blond by a hand that grabs at his backpack, sending him fumbling backwards. A pair of arms wrap around him from the back, a pair of lips chuckling against his ear. Without even a glance at the culprit, he knows immediately that it's Neymar, his fellow Brazilian always affectionate.

    "Late as always, princesa. What was it this time? Jacking off in the school bathroom? Or flirting your way to an 'A' again?"

    It's said in a teasing way, the brunet knows, but he still sticks his tongue out regardless. It earns another burst of chuckles from the hazel-eyed Brazilian, the brunet pursing his lips tightly together, that is until he too joins in the laughing fit. "Neither, actually. Jona needed help with a project he was doing with Gio, but you know he's sick, so."

    Neymar coins the younger a look before shaking his head, "He's not sick at all. More of a hangover from Hell. I saw him this morning before I went to my classes, he was hanging outside his dorm with Jona, saying something about how the sun burns and he was melting."

    "Merdinha."

    Dani eventually jogs up to join in the conversation, as always, sporting a broad grin. "While you two were gossiping like girls, we already set up teams."

    "Can you believe Jona made me do most of his project just because Gio isn't smart enough to take an Aspirin and drink a bottle of water?"

    Once more the hazel-eyed Brazilian is chuckling, slapping playfully at Dani's upper arm, the emerald-hued man gazing at Rafinha with a nonchalant expression. "Oh, I believe it. Your friends, though."

    Rafinha pulls a face but allows the two older male's to tow him in the direction of the field nonetheless. He politely greets the rest of the guys on his designated team and gets into position, stretching his hamstrings as well as his arms. Stretching was important and he didn't desire pulling anything, not after the strain that his brother had gotten in his leg once.

    An amused snort echoes from the brunet when he spots Marc poised in front of one of the goals, tugging on a pair of expensive-looking gloves, not paying any attention to Rafinha whatsoever. Ever since the Fifa game the two had played—and the one's after that for those two weeks—the blond had been seen practicing with a few of his personal friends. Otherwise known as people Rafinha weren't too fond of because they seemed to try and hog the German all to themselves—the bastards.

    Marc was his token German friend and he would be damned if a pair of curious Spaniards stole him away. _( They had girlfriends too, but preferred spending majority of their time with kidnapping Marc from their shared flat for a night of drinking and who-knows-what-else kinds of corruption. Apparently the German was worth more than the girls they were seeing, not that Rafinha particularly cared, except he did and was questionably jealous over the whole situation. )_

    Everyone is going to their respective spots on the field but Rafinha is far too preoccupied with staring at Marc to even notice the game had started only seconds ago. He feels a pat on his shoulder and glances to find Gerard with an annoyed expression, hands rising up in the air, as if physically expressing why he wasn't moving yet.

    Once his head was in the game, however, he turned into a beast. His skill set was in being a midfielder, he wasn't too fond of the pressure of being a striker, and lacked the proper coordination to become a good keeper. But there he is feeling the burn of his calf muscles as he runs along the freshly trimmed grass of the pitch, passing the ball towards Neymar, who sends it straight towards a focused looking Marc.

    Curiously he watches on as the Brazilian propels the ball forward and spiraling towards the goal. Of course the German had attempted to block its entry as he jumps as high as he can in the air to catch it but he had been fooled by the Brazilian's masterful quick feet, the brunet sending it in the opposing direction. It meets the net hard and bounces back out to roll in front of the German who scoops it up, rolling it towards one of the players on his team.

    Neymar receives praise for his goals, much like anyone would really, and is jumped on by Bartra who clings to his back, hands mussing up his hair that is always styled to the nines.—That aspect generally agitated the brunet personally, especially how his hair managed to stay nice and firmly in place. But whatever, strands of his own locks were already clamping to his damp forehead, beads of sweat trickling down the planes of his face.

    Nearly thirty minutes into the game is intense, neither of them had scored as of yet, but both teams were still going hard regardless. While Rafinha's team had speed and accuracy, the other team specialized in defense and teamwork. Mocha hues are watching as the ball is passed back and forth between the players of the opposing team and he attempts to steal the ball but instead slips somehow, allowing the team to press through the throng of bodies attempting the same thing.

    "Fucking Javi," murmurs the Brazilian as he retches himself up from the grass that has stained his light-colored shorts as well as the back of his white shirt.

    He falls back into the game easily and smirks when Messi, who happens to be the object of Neymar's undying affections—or at least the one who received it the most—, manages to steal the ball and run it down the side of the field to send it towards the goal. Marc, however, is better prepared this time as he watches the ball and catches it swiftly as it comes right to his chest.

    Almost instantaneously, though he probably shouldn't have, the brunet exclaims in a loud whoop as he jogs past Bartra—who looks more perplexed than he usually did—in favor of successfully jumping into the blond's arms. The German is panting heavily against his ear but embraces him nonetheless, a soft laugh echoing from his thin lips.

    "Fuck, you were serious." Rafinha is practically shrieking against his ear, the male shifting his head away from the boisterous regards. "No one, and I mean no one, can stop Leo when he goes for the goal. How the hell did you do that?"

    All Marc can do is smile as he buries his face in the side of the latter's perspired neck, nuzzling him softly. "It's called skill," he teases lightheartedly as the Brazilian wiggles out of his grip in favor of patting his flushed cheek, fingers lingering there for a moment longer than necessary. "And you just thought I was good at Fifa, you doubted me, Rafa."

    Rafinha scowls at the male then shakes his head, "I never doubted you. I just said I never saw you in action and you would, of course, prove me wrong. You always do, you big handsome German little shit."

    "How can I be a big German but a little shit?"

    Russet hands are pushing at his bare, chiseled chest then with a defense pout of his lips. "That's not the point here. The point is that I'm impressed and you did one helluva job and—And.." Words die on his lips as he eyes the smooth skin beneath his palms; he was definitely in need of the sun but that fact didn't take away from the flawless sight before him.

    Rafinha doesn't notice as the other guys jog over to question what was going on, but apparently Marc notices as he gently peels the hand still attached to his chest away. "Did I miss something? Or did you just forget to tell me that you two were seeing each other?" That was Munir, who leans forward on his knees, still panting from the game.

    Neymar curiously stares onward at the scene as Marc drops the younger's hands until both fall neatly at his sides. "Nah, I don't think it's that. Princess here would have told us, trust me. He can't keep his mouth shut and it's open longer than a 7/11."

    "Let's just get back to the game? I have another class in fifteen and I plan on taking a shower before then," pipes in Gerard who is slowly backing away from the scene, though he does offer the German keeper a thumbs up.

    Everyone disperses then, including a severely blushing Rafinha, who smiles broadly as he walks away from the German who only stares after him with an equally as ardent grin.

-

    Another two weeks pass and the blond starts to notice a trend; he seemed to be missing a variety of the shirts in his closet that were supposed to be hanging up on their respective hangars. Not that it concerns him all that much, no, he just begins to think that maybe he's just imagining the disappearance of his clothing and that maybe he had taken them down to the laundromat and forgotten the basket.

    Or so he thinks.

    But then he's returning home from one of his afternoon classes to find one brunet in particular sprawled leisurely across the couch with an opened book shielding his slumbering face. Typical Rafa, only he would fall asleep when he was supposed to be studying for his test coming up in the next few days. Marc doesn't bother him, however, instead he seeks out the blanket that is folded neatly across the back of the couch to cover him up.

    That was when he noticed one of his Polo shirts on the latter's body; it was one he had gotten a year ago for his birthday, a light blue one, that seemed far too long for the man who adorns it. He purses his lips at the sight, though he can barely resist the twitch at the corners of his lips, and straightens up to snatch the book off his face.

    He reaches absently for a piece of paper that has writing scrawled haphazardly across it in the crease of the book before he closes it, returning it to its previous location. The tiniest of smiles forms upon his lips as he leaves the living room in favor of investigating the sleeping man's room thoroughly for any sign of his missing clothing.

    When he enters the room, he finds a hamper full of Rafinha's clothes in the corner, the room somewhat cleaner than usual, but no sign of his own personal attire. Fingers sift through the drawers that are left open, noting his own shirts scattered here and there, then meanders through the small bunch of clothes at the bottom of his bed to investigate there. Beneath his plush pillow is a shirt that is seemingly untouched, the Everest green shirt having no soils or stains whatsoever.

    "I've been looking for this," murmurs the German absently as he snatches it up. He believes he had only just worn it a few days prior, having discarded it upon entering the flat after a particularly scorching day, and had placed it on the back of the couch for safe-keeping until he was well-rested enough to put it back in its proper place.

    It still smells strongly of the cologne he usually wears, he can smell it without even bringing it to his face, humming in contemplation for a moment. Why would the brunet steal his clothing without his permission? If asked, he would have kindly borrowed the clothes to the male, he wouldn't have minded at all.

    A soft yawn echoes from the door and he immediately drops the shirt back onto the bed as he glances towards where Rafinha was located, "What are you doing in my room?" He inquires as he rubs at his eyes, another yawn softly spewing from his mouth.

    "Huh? Nothing, I was just looking for stuff.. I guess my clothes get mixed up with yours or something?"

    Russet cheeks flush despite his drowsiness as he stares at the blond, offering a timid smile that was so unlike Rafinha—almost child-like. "That.. That's not what happened, no.."

    Marc blinks at that then awkwardly wavers from foot to foot as he glances towards the discarded shirt upon the bed then back at the brunet. "You've been taking my stuff?"

    His countenance only darkens a deeper crimson at that, the male trying to play it all off as he leans casually against the door-frame. "Only because the washer machines at the laundromat are broken.. I needed some fresh clothes for class."

    "You could have just asked, y'know? I don't mind at all."

    An imploring look flickers across the brunet's countenance at that, hands unconsciously smoothing down the slightly wrinkled shirt that he adorns. "I probably should have, yeah, I just wasn't thinking about it, I guess? If you want everything back, I'll give them back?" He offers as he hooks his fingers in the hem of the shirt he is currently wearing, tugging it up and over his head in one simple movement.

    Marc stares at the bare chest that is presented before him and allows his eyes to scan every inch of exposed skin; so tanned and smooth, not a flaw in sight. The shorts he adorns, however, are dipped just below the 'V' of his hips that exposes skin that is slightly lighter than the rest of his body. "Hey, no. It's fine, Rafa. Just ask next time so I don't think I'm going insane?"

    Once more the brunet rubs at his eyes absently, another yawn spewing from his lips. "It's cool, here." He tosses the shirt he was previously wearing towards the blond, who catches it effortlessly, with a small smile. "I just want the one on the bed, is that okay?"

    "Why that one?" He hesitantly queries after a moment of silence, slinging the shirt tossed to him over a shoulder, hands then reaching for the green one resting on the bed. "It's nothing special, it's just like the rest of them. Plus I told you, you can keep them all. I don't mind."

    One of Rafinha's legs jiggles slightly, arms crossing neatly over his chest, as he stares with narrowed eyes at the blond whose brows furrow tightly. His jaw visibly clenches and then releases then clenches once more before he releases a sigh and ruffles his shortly-trimmed locks. "I just want that one, okay? It, well.. I don't sleep at night sometimes, but it's helped me get sleep these past few days. So, please. Just that one?"

    Something akin to a flutter resides within the pit of the blond's stomach at that, not that he voices it aloud. All he can do is weakly nod his head at the words that the latter utters, an understanding smile spreading across his lips. There had to be something wrong with the stuttered palpitations of his heart though, it was a sensation that rarely occurred except for when—Nope. That's not—For Rafael?

    "It's all yours," he eventually offers with a reassuring smile. He fiddles with the bottom of the shirt that is slung over his shoulder and then hesitantly sends himself into motion, brushing shoulders with the younger as he strolls by.

    "You're not mad at all?" 

    Marc halts just as he passes the brunet, shifting on his heel to face him. Already the brunet is shifted to gaze upon him, a hopeful smile gracing his lips. "Why would I be mad? I'm just glad I can help, Rafa."

    "Nevermind. I just thought—..." For once in his life the male looks completely uncertain as he opens his mouth to speak only for it to eventually close. He gazes upon the floor for a thoughtful minute before his gaze shifts to Marc, who looks somewhat concerned. "Thanks."

    "Are you okay? If you're not, just let me know. I'll make you something if you want? Or we can always order a pizza or something."

    Fingers are tapping rhythmically against the door frame as he ponders the thought before nodding hesitantly, "Yeah. I'm fine, just the lack of sleep is all. I could go for some food though, maybe some pizza? Pizza and beer should make me feel better then maybe I'll finish studying and catch up on some things."

    Marc knows he should probably let it all go, it's just—that wasn't in his nature, not when a friend was clearly going through something. "Did I do something..?"

    A soft smile, "Nope. It's just the sleep thing, I guess I'm stressed about passing my classes."

    "Wanna study together once the pizza comes?"

    "Let's go for it."

-

    It's nearing midnight a few days after the accident, which was half of the reason why the brunet was temporarily unable to find solace in slumber. The sound of rain is hushed as it taps against the roof of the building, the thunder and lightning rumbling throughout the living space. Okay, yeah. That was the main reason why he was still awake.

    Ever since he was little the sound of thunder and the flash of lightning frightened him. Back then he had his brother Thiago to take care of him, the elder usually allowing him to seek peace within his bed with him. Generally he would tremble himself to sleep, at least until his older brother held him, telling him that all would be well and that there was nothing to truly worry about.

    Where was Thiago now? Oh, right. Currently in Germany studying abroad, leaving him as well as his siblings behind. Not that he blamed him or held ill will towards him for that, of course not, how could he? That would be selfish and he wasn't selfish—maybe a little bit, but still.

    There he is safely tucked beneath the warmth of his covers, eyes glued to the ceiling above, silently pondering how he would manage to get some sleep that night when the big test he had been studying nearly a week for was tomorrow. Something had to give, but apparently whatever that something was, it wasn't going to be sleep.

    Eventually he meanders outside of his room and into the kitchen where he retrieves a water bottle. He nonchalantly screws off the top and places it upon the counter, taking a few deep gulps of the soothing liquid, though he yelps at the boisterous sound of the thunder as it claps and effectively shakes the house, leaving the windows rattling in its wake.

    "Rain rain, go away." He mumbles to himself, eyes reddened around the edges, his lips shifted downward into a small frown.

    Minutes later, after ultimately downing the whole bottle and tossing it towards the bin, he finds himself situated on the couch. One leg is propped up against his chest while the other remains flat on the floor, fingers blandly pressing the buttons on the remote in an attempt to find something to occupy his time with. But to no avail, nothing was really on minus the midnight news, and he didn't particularly care about what the weather would be the next day.

    Shuffling is audible within the room nearby and he knows its Marc, who generally stays up late at night now just to entertain Rafinha when he can't sleep. Seconds later he emerges with a pair of lengthy pajama pants that hang dangerously low on his hips and nothing else. His hair is mussed and sticking up in various directions; it was clear neither of them would get any sleep that night.

    He joins the younger on the couch, knees pressed to his chest, arms folded over his knees. He glances at Rafinha with a sympathetic smile before burying his head in the small hole his arms make. A soft groan emanates from the blond no less than a minute later which is followed by silence.

    More thunder assaults his eardrums, the sound seeming to swallow the rest of the noise around him as a whole. He shudders against the couch and unconsciously shifts towards Marc, eyes clenching tightly shut as the sounds rumbles again. Marc makes a soft noise, practically feeling the heat emanating from the man, then shifts his head to glance at the brunet.

    "What's got you up this time?"

    Rafinha points upwards absently then frowns, "It's the storm."

    The blond nods his head slowly in understanding then wraps an arm around the latter's torso, tugging him close. "You never mentioned being afraid of storms," quips the German after a moment of stunned silence.

    "One: I'm not scared of them, it's just—They're loud and it makes it hard to sleep." He states defensively, which earns him a hearty chuckle. "Two: it's not really something you mention when you're supposed to be a mature, twenty-three year old."

    "I think I have something for the loudness," hums the German as he offers the latter's shoulders a reassuring squeeze. "And stop.. I'm the same age but I'm still scared of going on roller-coasters alone." With that he gets up and leaves the Brazilian, but only for a moment; he returns a minute later with a pair of headphones and his iPod. "Put that in?"

    Rafinha stares at the earbuds and plucks one up, sliding it easily into his ear. "I can't believe you're scared of roller-coasters, whatever happened to 'you only live once?'" 

    Marc glares at him with no real malice as he too plucks one into his ear, scrolling through his iPod to find a decent song to play. "You only live once until your roller-coaster spirals out of control, and then you'll ever _only_ really live once."

    "You're such a pessimist."

    "Just not a complete optimist," counters the male as he finally selects a song, turning the volume on medium.

    Just then another boom of thunder sounds and Rafinha is scooting more into Marc's space, his hands clutching onto his upper arm tightly. "I hope this works.."

    "Just listen to the music, okay? Tune everything else out, nothing else matters right now. Just relax."

 **♫♪** _All alone as you look through the door_  
_Nothing left to see_  
_If it hurts and you can't take no more_  
_Lay it all on me_ **♫♪**

    Lids flutter to a content close as the Brazilian lays his head on the German's shoulders, the blond instinctively wrapping an arm around his body once more until they're both comfortably situated.

 **♫♪** _No you don't have to keep it under lock and key_  
_Cause I will never let you down_  
_And if you can't escape all your uncertainties_  
_Baby I can show you how_ **♫♪**

    Marc stares blankly at the television screen that still aimlessly flickers with whatever channel the brunet had desired to watch. All he can focus on is the feeling of the latter's steady breathing within his embrace, the way his body is slowly losing its rigidity in favor of completely relaxing within his arms.

 **♫♪** _So if you're hurting babe_  
_Just let you're heart be free_  
_You got a friend in me_  
_I'll be your shoulder at anytime you need_  
_Baby I believe_  
_You can lay it all on me_ **♫♪**

__Rafinha eventually begins to shift slightly so his head sways to the sound of the music, barely flinching even slightly when the thunder wracks the house once more. His fingers aren't nearly clenching at Marc's upper arm as hard as before, instead they release him until he's only loosely holding onto him. Soft hums even begin to echo from the younger, body beginning to move along as well._ _

___**♫♪** _Let my love in, let my love in__  
_Lay your heart on me_  
_If you're hurting, if you're hurting_  
_Lay it all on me (lay it all on me)_ **♫♪**

__Soon the finally chorus is beginning to play and Rafinha has shifted completely this time. His chin is no longer resting upon Marc's shoulder, instead he just leans against him, his face staring at the German in scrutiny. Seconds later the German seems to take notice but before he ask what was wrong, he feels a pair of warm lips pressing against his own._ _

__Hot breath, that smells faintly of the candy he had consumed earlier that evening, is assaulting his senses. His lids flutter to a content close as he finally gets with the program to kiss him back, one of his hands coming up to gently cup his cheek, thumb brushing fondly against the stubbled skin. Hands are pressing against his bare shoulders until he gracelessly falls back against the couch cushions with Rafinha hovering above him, legs on either side of his hips._ _

__Somehow the earphones manage to stay in, the song only replaying after the final chorus is over. He doesn't allow the latter a moment to breath, however, as he descends upon his lips once more. It starts with soft pecks that are barely there but morphs into so much more as Rafinha uses all his liquid courage to trace the very tip of his tongue along the latter's lips before suckling at the lower, tugging it within his mouth._ _

__At that the blond opens his mouth with a soft sigh as he allows the latter all the dominance over the kiss, not minding the tongue that assaults his mouth, tasting every inch of his cavern. All he can taste is candy and toothpaste and something that is so undeniably Rafinha. His hands placate with resting upon his hips, thumbs brushing against his protruding hip bones, applying gentle pressure there._ _

__Marc has the broadest of grins on his lips as he leans his head away from the couch cushions in favor of more eager and insistent kisses from Rafinha, who tilts his head slightly into the kiss, gaining better access to those reddened lips that are so persistent against his own. He presses one final kiss to his lips then but lingers there for a moment, their breath mingling between them, when Rafinha suddenly laughs._ _

__"Is it even storming anymore?"_ _

__Clear hues are blinking away the haziness from his gaze as he attempts to focus on the latter's countenance that is softly bathed in the light from the television, "I don't—I don't think so? Is it?" He question, breathless, as he leans forward to press another tender kiss to Rafinha's invitingly red lips._ _

__Rafinha sits up on the latter's waist, hands splaying flatly against his abdomen, the muscle twitching beneath his touch. For a moment he's silent as he listens for any sign of disturbances but there are none. He glances back at Marc, who is positively dazed, and smiles bashfully. "You must be magic, it stopped."_ _

__One of the male's pale hands goes to smooth down the latter's raven locks, smoothing the unruly hairs down, then proceeds to ghost that hand down the light stubble that prickles against his fingers. "Blame the music, it wasn't me."_ _

__"Did you do that on purpose?"_ _

__"Wh-what are you—What?"_ _

__Rafinha purses his lips firmly then clicks his tongue, "You planned it all. You took advantage of my fear for storms and somehow chose the right song that made me feel—.. Why that song?"_ _

__Somewhere the song is still playing through the small earbuds but the blond isn't able to hear it. "I didn't even know why that was why you were up, I swear. I thought it was your insomnia again." He pleas, which earns an amused snort from Rafinha._ _

__"What about the song then?" Cheeks flush considerably at that but he doesn't answer. "Is that how you feel, Marquinho?" But Marc is glancing away so his gaze is connected with the television once more. The brunet rolls his eyes at that then abandons their position on his abdomen in favor of dipping beneath his cheek and the cushion to make him face him once more. His fingers rest upon his chin, keeping him firmly in place: "You can't make out with me and practically seduce me then not answer my questions."_ _

__Marc gulps deeply, his tongue making an appearance to soothe his chapped lips, then hesitantly nods his head. "I figured it was appropriate, I just didn't expect that to happen. Not that I'm complaining."_ _

__"Take me to bed, you adorable dork."_ _

__Just like that the German is sitting up and lifting the Brazilian along with him, transporting them both into the security of his bedroom. As gently as possible, he lays the Brazilian down onto the bed, then climbs in after him. The television softly humming in the background in the living doesn't bother him in the least as he melds into the body of the younger, one of his legs up and bent at the knee, the other laying flat against the bed._ _

__Marc places butterfly kisses on every inch of his countenance, one of his hands resting on the latter's bent knee while the other rests upon the covers. He revels in the soft sounds that spew from the brunet as he aims his kisses along the column of his smooth neck, nipping at the skin presented to him there, tugging it between his teeth._ _

__"..—so you are into the whole biting thing..?"_ _

__Marc answers in the form of another playful nip that makes the Brazilian moan, head tilting slightly to allow him better access. "Only when it comes to you.."_ _

-

    Granted the next morning the two are both late to their classes, which led to curious glances from the usual crowd of their friends. Rafinha had decidedly worn another shirt that belonged to Marc, with no protest from the German whatsoever, who had actually snagged one of the Brazilian's hoodies.

    When the two walk through the corridors, shoulders bumping together, a variety of people notice and rumors rapidly fill the school. Not that either of the two concern themselves over it, it wasn't much of a secret actually. Eventually the two are cornered just before Marc can escort Rafinha inside of his first class that day by Neymar, Dani, and Leo who stare at them suspiciously.

    "Is there something going on between you two?" Dani is the first to ask in a hushed voice as he glances between the two men who are both flushing a deep crimson.

    Neymar unconsciously brushes the back of his hand against Leo's, the paler of the two adorning a timid smile at the action. "Not that it's any of our business, though that love bite on your neck doesn't leave much to the imagination." The Brazilian points out, eyes narrowing suspiciously.

    "What's wrong with a few love bites?" Rafinha questions aloud to the Brazilian, who only flushes deeply.

    "I agree," Leo states in a soft voice as he turns to Neymar who adjusts the collar of his shirt around his own neck in a nervous gesture. 

    Neymar raises his hands defensively before him, Dani squinting at him imploringly, but all the Brazilian can manage is a nervous chuckle. "Nothing, I mean—Honestly? Nothing at all. But this isn't about me anyway, what's up with you two?"

    "Yeah, when did this happen?" Dani chimes in with crossed arms, looking specifically at Marc almost like a protective big brother.

    Marc shrugs a halfhearted shoulder then slings an arm around Rafinha, tugging him close against his chest. "All that matters is that it happened."

    Leo glances at Neymar, the hazel-hued Brazilian staring at him wistfully, then offers a warm smile. "I'm happy for you two, I knew it would happen eventually. Ignore these two, it's none of our business what goes on between you guys."

    Neymar eventually quiets and nods his head softly as he subtly maneuvers an arm around his slender waist, pulling him closely. It doesn't go unnoticed by Marc, who locks eyes with Leo, the Argentinean only flushing slightly.

    "We'll talk about it later guys. Rafa has class and I have class. Don't you guys have class?" Marc questions with a quirked brow as he offers the brunet a kiss on the lips before allowing him to slip into the classroom through the back door.

    Dani makes something akin to a grunt then places a warm hand on Neymar's shoulder, offering it a warm squeeze. "Yeah, he's right. I'll see you later, man."

    Neymar just stands there awkwardly for a moment longer, at least until Leo slings an arm around his shoulder, offering Marc a parting smile. Thin, pale fingers toy with the collar around Neymar's neck, subtly maneuvering it so it exposes a fading love bite there. All Marc does is blanch at the sight, coughing awkwardly to himself, before he points backwards down the corridor where his classes were.

    "I'm just going to—" Messi coins him a playful wink as he tugs on Neymar's arm, towing him in the opposite direction. "Yeah, uh. See you guys after class."

    And just like that things were exactly how they were supposed to be.

**Author's Note:**

> el fin c:
> 
> (( i'm low on ideas so if you wanna see something with these adorable lil shits, just leave a comment ? :pp ))


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